Mechanical Failure
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: Jessica is doing her best to adjust to her new life in DC. But then she witnesses a murder, and her life is once again thrown into chaos. Related to "Her Father's Daughter". Please Review.
1. Subway

Jessica walked along the almost-deserted side streets of Washington, DC, backpack over her shoulder, her breath making clouds in front of her, headed home from her friend's house. She only lived a few blocks away, so her mom decided it was ok for her to head home alone. It was her third month in DC. And not a day had gone by she didn't wish she was back home on NYC.

Jessica moved swiftly through the streets and alleys, staying off the main streets. This route was a more roundabout way to get home, but with no traffic, it was actually faster to take this way home.

Suddenly, some voices arguing ahead caused Jessica to slow her pace. She approached the source of the voices, an alleyway just ahead of her, and stopped, peeking her head around the corner. She soon discovered that the voices weren't arguing. One man, she saw, was pinned against the wall with a knife to his throat. He looked terrified. The man pinning him there looked exactly the opposite, completely and totally calm. Jessica, however, was frozen in fear. She watched as the man begged for his life, and then had it taken away from him with a swipe of the knife. Jessica gasped, and then her heart kicked into a gear so high she thought it would explode when the killer turned and looked at her. The two locked eyes, and then instinct took over. Jessica ran faster than she had ever run before, as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn't stop until she reached her apartment building, raced up the stairs, fumbled to unlock her door, and burst inside.

Rebecca was on the phone when she saw Jessica. "Hey, Steve? Yeah, I'll have to call you back. Ok, bye," she quickly hung up as Jessica ran over to her, breathing heavily. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"On my way home I saw this guy kill this other guy in an alley!" Jessica told her, shaking. "We have to call Dad and Peter!"

Rebecca sighed. "Look, sweetie, I know this move has been hard on you, but you have to believe me when I say it was for the best."

"Wait," Jessica said, sounding hurt. "You don't believe me?"

"Well, honey, it's just that, ever since we moved here, you've been doing everything you can to get me to take you to see your dad," Rebecca said helplessly.

It was true, of course. Jessica refused to accept that Rebecca wasn't going to let her see her dad. But if there were ever a time for her to believe her, it was now. "I wouldn't lie about something like this, Mom!" Jessica shouted, furious. "How could you even think that?" She didn't wait for an answer before taking off and storming into her room, Shadow, her now-six-month-old golden retriever at her heels, and slammed the door behind her, making sure she locked it before collapsing onto her bed, sobbing as her body shook. Shadow jumped up beside her and laid down, allowing the little girl to bury her face in his fur. After hours of fear- and sadness-filled sobbing and ignoring Rebecca as she knocked, Jessica felt very tired. The last thing she thought before she closed her eyes and fell asleep was: Fine. If she won't believe me, I'll just have to go tell Dad and Peter on my own...

* * *

><p>Jessica woke up the next morning, Saturday, the first day of winter vacation, her heart racing, sweating, and shaking. She had just relived the terror from the day before. She sighed, her heart starting to slow down, and glanced at the clock. It was after ten; her mom would already be at work. Good.<p>

Jessica slid out of bed and got changed, then packed a drawstring backpack with a sketchbook, pencils, her wallet, with all her money and her old subway pass in it, and slung it over her shoulder. Shadow whined at her as she unlocked the door, brushed her hair, and got ready to go.

"Don't worry, Shadow," Jessica assured him. "I'll take a train to New York City, and then a subway to Dad's. No problem."

The dog seemed unconvinced, sitting in front of the door, trying to block her from leaving. It took about five minutes for her to manage to get him out of the way and leave the apartment...

Jessica sat on the subway, nervously fidgeting in her seat. She was worried. What if her dad was mad at her? What if he didn't believe her either? She shouldn't have come. This was a bad idea.

Suddenly, a feeling of dread interrupted her thoughts. Someone was watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she glanced around. Finally, she spotted the person who was watching her. When she did, she felt her blood run cold. It was the same man who she saw kill that man in the alley. She was sure of it. She would never be able to forget that face.

He seemed to see her looking and stood up, making his way toward her from the other end of the subway car. Panicked, Jessica looked around, but she had nowhere to go. Just then, the subway shook violently, and the breaks squealed. People screamed as it rocked back and forth, and then finally fell sideways. Jessica, along with several others, fell out of her chair and down to the other side of the subway. She cracked her head on the seat, and then everything went dark.

Neal walked through the glass doors of the bullpen, glancing around. He was surprised to find the room almost empty. But then, looking up, he discovered why. Peter and the others were gathered in the conference room. Neal made his way up the stairs to join them.

"...made an appearance yesterday in Washington, D.C.," Peter was saying. "But this time, things got a little messy." At that moment, Peter noticed Neal leaning against the wall. He sighed, but didn't say anything. Then he continued. "He was found dead yesterday in an alley. Metro police has agreed to hand the case over to us. We need to find out who killed our suspect and why. Now get to work," he said, dismissing the table. Neal made his way over to his partner.

"So nice of you to join us, Neal," Peter said, sounding annoyed.

"I was kind of in the middle of something when I got your text," Neal said wearily. "And then all the subways were closed, so I had no way of making up the time."

"That's because a subway veered off the track and crashed into the wall before turning onto its side," Peter explained. "It was on the news this morning. Three people confirmed dead so far. Dozens have been hospitalized."

"Oh my God," Neal said, shocked.

Peter paused. "What were you doing when I texted you?"

"I was talking to Rebecca," Neal sighed. "Well, more like arguing with Rebecca..."

"She still won't budge on letting you see Jessica?" Peter asked sympathetically. Neal shook his head. "I'm sorry, Neal," Peter said sincerely.

"It's not over," Neal said firmly. "She's my daughter, too. I'm not just going to stand by and let her keep her away from me."

Peter nodded in understanding. Just then, Neal's phone rang. "Excuse me for a second," he said, stepping outside the conference room before answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Caffrey?" A man's voice asked.

"Yes, who is this?" Neal asked in return.

"This is Dr. Rhea," he said. A flash of recognition showed in Neal's eyes. When he and Jessica had almost died back when Mason was still alive, Dr. Rhea had been their doctor. He also treated Peter when Mason poisoned him with a synthetic snake venom.

"Hey, Doc," Neal greeted him. "What's going on?"

"Well, Mr. Caffrey, I'm sorry to tell you that Jessica was admitted here earlier today," Dr. Rhea told him.

"What?" Neal asked, alarmed. Peter noticed his change of expression and body language through the glass door and looked at him strangely. "Why? What happened? She's ok, isn't she?"

"She was involved in a subway crash earlier today. She hit her head on a chair and was knocked unconscious," Rhea explained.

"Oh my God," Neal said softly, his voice strained. Peter joined him outside the conference room. "Is she ok?"

"She's in a coma," Rhea said regretfully. "The trauma to her brain is pretty extensive. We just don't know yet."

Neal looked like the wind had just gotten knocked out of him. "Can I see her?" he asked finally.

"Of course," Rhea confirmed.

"Ok, I'm on my way," Neal said, starting down the stairs and hanging up. Peter trotted along after him.

"On your way where?" he asked, concerned.

"The hospital," Neal muttered, pressing the button to call the elevator.

"What? Why?" Peter asked, worried.

"Jessica was on that subway that crashed," Neal told him.

"Oh my God..." Peter said softly as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Neal simply nodded...


	2. Even Angels Have to Die

Peter pulled up in front of the hospital fifteen minutes after he and Neal left the FBI.

"You go find Jessica," he commanded. "I'll park the car and meet up with you inside."

Neal nodded quickly, unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car. He raced inside, stopping for only a moment to ask directions from the nurse at the front desk. Then he began to hurriedly weave his way through the white hallways, staring at the room numbers as he passed them. Finally he found the right one and, without taking a moment to prepare himself for what he might see, he burst through the door.

He really wished he took that time to prepare himself.

Jessica had an oxygen mask over her face. She had cuts and scratches on every visible surface of her skin. A large square of gauze, which covered a large, deep gash on the back left side of her head, the one responsible for her comatose state, peeked out at him behind her head. There were ugly black, blue, purple, and green bruises on the left side of her face.

For the longest time, Neal felt like his racing heart had stopped. He hardly dared to breathe. His feet were rooted to the spot. Finally, he let out a shuddering breath, dragging a chair over to Jessica's bed, and lowered himself into the seat. He took Jessica's tiny hand in his, and pushed some hair out of her face, his hand shaking as he fought back tears.

"What were you doing on that subway, Jessi?" Neal asked softly, his voice pained. "What was so important that you would come alone?" Neal knew Jessica would have had to have a really good reason to leave without telling Rebecca where she was going, which he knew she didn't because if she did, Rebecca would have been with her on that subway. Which reminded him, he had to call Rebecca and tell her what had happened.

"Oh my God," Neal looked up to see Peter in the doorway, staring in horror at Jessica's almost-lifeless form. Then he shifted his gaze to Neal. He frowned when he saw the look on the consultant's face. It was a look he had seen when Jessica was missing, when Mason had kidnapped and poisoned him, and when Logan had taken Elizabeth and Neal had been unable to stop him. It was a look of intense guilt.

"You're crazy if you think this was in any way your fault," Peter told him, his eyes narrowed.

Neal shrugged, letting out a sigh. "I don't know, Peter," he said softly. "I just...I feel like I should have done something. Talked to her, maybe. Just...something..."

"Neal, you couldn't have done anything," Peter insisted. "You couldn't have talked to her. Rebecca wouldn't let you give Jessica your number. She wouldn't let you talk to her. There was nothing you could have done."

Neal just shrugged once more, then, reluctantly, he stood up and dropped Jessica's hand. "I'll be right back," he said with a sigh. "I have to call Rebecca." With that, he left the room, leaving Peter alone with Jessica...

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was kind of a blur. Rebecca wouldn't be able to make the trip until tomorrow; there were no trains leaving until the following morning and her car was in the shop. But she would be on the first train the following morning.<p>

Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Elizabeth, and Hughes came and went throughout the day. Neal was only vaguely aware of their presence. He never left her side, and Peter, not wanting to leave his friend alone, stayed with him. That is, until around midnight.

"You should go home, Neal," Peter said gently. "Get some sleep."

"I'm not leaving," Neal said firmly.

"There's nothing you can do here," Peter sighed. "Dr. Rhea said he'd call if there was any change in her condition. Until then, there's no reason to stay."

"When I first found out about Jessica, do you know what I did?" Neal asked.

Peter paused. "Violated one of the basic rules of hostage negotiation and made the drop yourself, leading to your death?" he guessed.

Neal laughed slightly. "No. Well, yes, but no," Neal sighed. "I promised myself I'd never let anything happen to her."

"You didn't do this, Neal," Peter insisted. "It was a mechanical failure. A freak accident. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it."

Neal just shrugged.

"Come on, Neal," Peter said with a sigh. Neal didn't say anything, but allowed Peter to drag him away from Jessica's side and out to the car.

Peter dropped Neal off at his home half an hour later. Neal, moving as if in a trace, got out of the car and headed inside. Peter waited a few minutes before driving off...

* * *

><p>Neal tried for hours, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep. He'd always end up thinking about Jessica, and then find himself consumed by a black hole of worry and guilt that he couldn't overcome. Finally, he let out a weary sigh and gave up, pulling on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, his coat, and his shoes. Then he headed outside and began the long walk to the hospital, texting Peter to let him know where he was going before shoving his phone back in his pocket...<p>

* * *

><p>The man stared down at the little girl's unconscious form, watching as the moonlight streaming through the hospital's window washed over them, glinting off the sharp blade he held in his hand. She looked terrible, the wounds from the subway crash marring her face, yet beautiful and perfect at the same time. Like a wounded angel.<p>

_But sometimes, even angels have to die,_ the man thought, placing a gloved hand on the girl's shoulder and positioning the knife on her neck in such a way that it wouldn't take much more than a twitch of the man's wrist to draw blood. _Especially when they've seen too much._ The man sighed and bushed back the girl's hair. "I wish it didn't have to be this way," he said softly. "But it does."

* * *

><p>Neal was almost at the hospital when his phone rang. He sighed when he saw Peter's name on the caller ID. He quickly picked up.<p>

"Yeah, Peter?" Neal asked in greeting.

"Why did I just get a call from the US Marshalls telling me that you're outside your radius?" Peter asked as Neal pulled open the hospital door.

"Maybe because I'm outside my radius," Neal said with a slight smirk.

"Why?" Peter asked, annoyed.

"I texted you, Peter," Neal sighed. "I couldn't sleep, ok? I decided to go back and visit Jessica."

"Oh..." Peter said, sounding both relieved and sympathetic. "Ok..."

"Look, Peter, I'll call you back, ok?" he said softly. "I've got nurses giving me dirty looks."

Peter laughed. "Ok, call me soon, ok?"

"Ten minutes," Neal promised.

"Ok, bye," Peter smiled.

"Bye," Neal said in parting, hanging up just as he approached Jessica's room.

As he approached the dark room, he realized something was wrong. There was a man standing beside Jessica's bed. It didn't take a genius to see he wasn't a doctor. He was dressed similarly to Neal, in jeans and a hoodie that covered his face. That was when he saw the glint of the knife the man held at his daughter's throat. An overwhelming rage washed over Neal, and he ran at the man, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him away from Jessica's bed and throwing him against the wall, where he pinned him.

"What are you doing," Neal growled in his face. "Why are you anywhere near my daughter?"

The man smiled and laughed. Neal couldn't see the top half of the man's face; it was hidden by the hood. "I think we should have this conversation another time," he said with a smirk. Then he kneed Neal in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Neal stumbled back, gasping for air, and looked up at the man just in time to see his fist make contact with his face. Neal fell onto the ground, wincing in pain. But he refused to stay down. Finally able to catch his breath, he staggered to his feet, more angry than ever, and charged at him again, shoving him into the wall.

But he forgot about the knife.

The man sliced through the air with the knife, causing Neal to jump back. While he was distracted, the man grabbed Neal's arm and spun him around in a wide circle before slamming his head into the doorframe, knocking the consultant out cold...


	3. Too Many Questions

_**Note:**_

**_Sorry about this one being so short. I wrote this during study hall today, and I really wanted to post it, but I have a quiz tomorrow that I have to study for, so I don't have time to elaborate on it. I'm sure I'll have a more satisfying chapter soon._**

**_Thanks for understanding!  
>And, of course, thanks for reading!<em>**

* * *

><p>Peter was starting to get worried. It had been fifteen minutes since he hung up with Neal. It wasn't like him to be late with things like this. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and called Neal himself...<p>

* * *

><p>Neal groaned as his phone rang, opening his eyes and shifting on the floor. He found his phone resting on the ground beside him, and he scooped it up, not even bothering to check and see who was calling.<p>

"Hello?" he said, sounding lethargic.

"Neal, it's Peter," Neal flinched when he heard Peter's voice in his ear. It was just a little too loud. He shied away from his phone, letting out another groan. "Are you ok? You never called me back."

"No," Neal grunted as he slowly got to his feet. "No, I am most certainly not ok."

"What happened?" Peter asked, concerned.

"I'm not even sure, Peter," Neal said helplessly. "All I know is that someone just had a knife to my daughter's throat, and he got away."

"What?" Peter didn't bother to hide his shock. "You know what, I don't wanna know. I'm on my way. I'll be there soon." With that, the agent hung up.

* * *

><p>"Neal," Peter said as he approached Jessica's room. Neal was standing outside it, leaning against the wall, a sketchbook in his hands. "Are you ok?"<p>

"Yeah, Peter, I'm fine," Neal assured him.

"What do you have there?" Peter asked, looking at the sketchbook.

"Jessica had it when the subway crashed," Neal explained. "I think we have a problem, Peter."

"What?" Peter asked, concerned.

Neal turned the sketchbook to Peter. "This was the last picture she drew," he told him. Peter looked at the picture in shock.

"Neal, this is-"

"The art thief who was killed in DC, I know," Neal finished.

"Why did Jessica draw him?" Peter wondered out loud. "How did she know to draw him?"

Neal shook his head, "I don't know." He sighed and turned, leaning against the doorframe, looking in on Jessica's unconscious form. "Oh, Jessi...What have you gotten yourself into...?"

* * *

><p>Neal spent the night in the hospital after Peter went back home. He couldn't bring himself to leave after what happened to Jessica. When he woke up again, sunlight flooded the room through the window. He groaned, shifting positions, his muscles aching from sitting in the uncomfortable chair all night.<p>

Neal sighed, realizing that he couldn't go back to sleep, and got up from his chair, stretching out his tense muscles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then he yawned and left the room, heading toward the cafeteria to get some of the hospital's crappy coffee.

Before he managed to get half way down the hall, however, a hand clamped on his shoulder and he felt something pressed into his lower back. This triggered a memory, one he'd rather forget, and he knew it was a gun.

"Good morning, Mr. Caffrey," Neal immediately recognized the voice as the one from last night. "I have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that I'm not here to kill Jessica. The bad news is," he said, pushing Neal forward down the hall, towards the waiting area, "you have to come with me."

Neal didn't say anything, allowing himself to be guided down the hall. He was too close to Jessica for comfort; he didn't want to make his attacker angry when he had a gun and his daughter was within range. As they approached the waiting area, he tensed up.

"What?" the man asked, picking up on Neal's sudden change in body language.

"The man in the grey suit who's about to walk through the front door," Neal said without moving his lips. "That's Peter. He's my friend. He's going to want to talk to me."

The man paused. "Ok," he said, letting go of Neal's shoulder and taking the gun off of his back, "but just know that if you try to tell him anything, try and slip him a message or something, I'll know. And your friend will be dead before he hits the ground. Ok? Good. Tick-tock, Neal."

Neal turned around to look at the man, but it was too late. He was already gone, mixed in with the crowd of worried friends and family waiting on news about loved ones.

"Neal," Neal turned back around when he heard Peter call his name. "How's Jessica?"

"No change," Neal sighed.

"And how about you? How's your head?" Peter asked, concerned.

"Oh, it's fine," Neal assured him. "Just a little sore." He paused for a heartbeat. "I'll be back, ok?" he said, starting for the door.

"Hold it," Peter's commanding tone stopped Neal in his tracks. His heart pounding, he turned back around. "Where are you going?"

"I just need some air, Peter," Neal said, his voice tired. "I'm going for a walk."

"I'll go with you," Pete offered, starting to follow him.

"Actually, I was hoping I could go alone," Neal told him. "I kind of want to clear my head."

Peter looked at the consultant suspiciously. Neal sighed.

"I'm just going around the block, Peter," he said wearily. "I have no reason to run. Hell I have every reason not to run. I really thought we were past this, but, hey," Neal pulled up his left pant leg a little, just enough to reveal his tracking anklet, "you can track me the whole time if you want to." With that, the con man turned and left the hospital, his deadly shadow following close behind, unknown to Peter.

As he watched his friend go, Peter frowned. Something wasn't right. He could feel it in his gut. After a moment, he decided to follow his instinct, and quickly followed Neal out the door, making sure he stayed a good distance behind him so he wouldn't be spotted...

* * *

><p>Neal walked through the busy streets of New York, all too aware of the hooded figure with his hand inside his messenger bag following close behind, keeping his distance while at the same time not giving the con too much leash.<p>

"Turn down this next ally," Neal jumped when he heard the man's voice in his ear. Taking a deep breath, he obeyed, heading down the long dark corridor.

The alley led to a small side street. There was a van parked on the curb, but it was otherwise deserted.

"Get in," the man growled, motioning to the van. Neal, clenching his jaw in frustration, opened the rear door and climbed inside.

Not two seconds later, someone, not the man who had brought him there, who was now in his line of sight, grabbed him from behind in a choke hold. Neal struggled violently against his attacker, his survival instinct kicking in. A few seconds later, he felt a pinch in his neck. Before he knew it, he felt his brain starting to slow to a crawl, before finally dragging himself into unconsciousness...


	4. Yo, Mista Kingston!

Peter had just seen Neal and a man in a navy blue hoodie round the corner and head down the alley. Afraid to lose them, he quickened his pace. He made it around the corner just as they turned out of the alley.

"What are you doing, Neal?" Peter said out loud, quietly, as he made his way down the alley. Just as he reached the corner, he heard a struggle coming from somewhere on the street.

Suddenly, Peter really regretted leaving his gun and badge in the car. Staying out of sight, he flattened himself against the wall, keeping to the shadows, and peeked around the corner. There was a blue van parked at the curb. That was where the commotion was coming from. Standing outside the open sliding rear door stood the man in the navy blue hoodie. He watched as the commotion died down and the man in the hoodie took a knife out and leaned into the van. Peter tensed, waiting to see what happened. After a moment, the man in the hoodie tossed Neal's tracking anklet, sliced free of his ankle, onto the sidewalk, and climbed inside the van. Seconds later, the engine roared to life and the van peeled out of the alley, burning rubber, and pulled out onto the street. Peter waited until it was gone before coming out of his hiding place.

Peter walked toward Neal's discarded anklet. When he was close enough to see, he let out a worried sigh, noticing the smudges of blood on the sleek black anklet. Taking a moment to compose himself, Peter drew out his phone and called Hughes.

"Reese, it's me," Peter said once his friend picked up. "We have a problem."

* * *

><p>"Ok, so here's the deal," Peter said when everybody had gathered in the conference room. "Neal has been taken. This is what we know, and it's not much. Neal was attacked at the hospital late last night after seeing a man holding a knife to Jessica's throat. We know that Jessica, at some point before the subway crash, saw our murdered art thief's face. We know this because she drew him in the sketchbook she had with her when the subway crashed," he continued, showing them the detailed sketch of the thief. "It was the last thing she drew. We know that Neal was taken roughly thirty minutes ago by at least two suspects. We believe that this may have something to do with the murdered art thief in DC. No one touches another case until we bring Neal home, understood?" The agents in the conference room nodded and murmured their agreement. "Good," Peter sighed. He was about to dismiss them when he thought of something else. "Oh, and if anyone runs into Jessica's mother, Rebecca, while working on this case, and she asks about Neal, don't tell her what happened. Just tell her he's with me, working on a case."<p>

"But, Peter," Diana spoke up, "doesn't she have a right to know what happened to the father of her child and where he is?"

"Normally, I'd agree with you, Diana," Peter acknowledged. "But Rebecca took Jessica to DC because she thought Neal's life was too dangerous for Jessica to stay. If Neal is going to have any chance of convincing her otherwise, she cannot know about this. He would never forgive us if we told her."

They all knew it was true.

There was a slight pause before Peter cleared his throat. "Well, forensics will send is results as they get them. Let's get to work, shall we? I want Neal home by the time Jessica wakes up."

He didn't need to stay anything else. Everyone became animated, quickly getting to work...

* * *

><p>Neal's eyes slowly opened. The sudden rush of light from the light bulbs above his head made him groan and shift. His thoughts were slow and jumbled, whatever drug he had been given still present in his system. It took him a moment before he realized that his wrists and ankles had been immobilized. Zip ties bound him to the arms and legs of the stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair he sat in.<p>

As he struggled to gain control of his own thoughts, the door to his right opened and three men walked in. The first was tall with medium brown hair, green eyes, a tan complexion, and a muscular build. The second man looked enough like the first to be his brother. He had blue eyes and darker brown hair, and was a little shorter than the first. But those were pretty much their only differences in their appearance.

The third was shorter than both of the others, closer to Neal's height. He was a little scrawnier, but he did not, in any way, look weak. His light brown hair stuck up at odd angles, but didn't seem messy. Neal could tell he was in charge, just based on how he walked and stood. Then again, he could just have an arrogant personality.

"Neal Caffrey," the third man said at last. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person. You know, you're the man who put my big brother in prison."

_Uh-oh..._ Neal knew he was in trouble.

"I'm Drew Kingston," Neal instantly recognized the name. James Kingston, presumably this man's brother, had been the subject of a case he and Peter had worked a month and a half ago. It was an art theft case. Kingston had stolen a priceless Monet, but had been pretty sloppy about it. He didn't cover his tracks very well, and even killed a guard in the process. It hadn't been hard to track him down.

"And this is Ryan," Drew nodded toward the blue-eyed man, "and Blake," he indicated the green-eyed man.

"Where am I?" Neal asked, surprised at how lethargic he sounded.

"That's not important," Drew shrugged. "What is important is what you're doing here. You see, you're going to help me get my brother back."

"That's never going to happen," Neal said matter-of-factly, even as his words blended together. "The FBI would never agree to what you're asking. Peter would never even consider it. That guard was his friend."

"Well you better hope they find you too important an asset to lose," Drew chuckled, trying to keep his voice calm and pleasant. "Because, if they don't, you're going to die before you get to see your daughter wake up. That is, if she wakes up. From what I understand, her head trauma is pretty extensive," he mocked.

"Well, then, I picked the wrong day to be Neal Caffrey," Neal said softly, choosing to ignore the comment about Jessica. His words were so slurred, even he had trouble understanding them, "because the FBI is never going to agree to let your brother out of jail, no matter who you threaten."

"We'll see," Drew smiled. "You just say what we want you to say when we want you to say it, and I won't send Ryan to finish the job with Jessica, and you'll go home in one piece." He paused. "Well, probably anyway."

As he spoke, he took out his cell phone and dialed a number and brought it up to his ear as it started to ring.

"Hello?" Even from across the room, Neal could hear Peter's stressed, weary voice on the phone.

"Hello, Agent Burke," smugness and arrogance dripped off of every word Drew spoke.

"Who is this?" Peter asked, his weary tone suddenly growing alert and suspicious.

"My name is Drew Kingston," Drew said slowly, making every word very clear. "You and your little FBI lapdog over here, Neal Caffrey, put my big brother in prison for life. That wasn't very nice."

"Neither was killing that security guard, but that didn't stop your brother from doing so," Peter countered.

"He did that is self-defense. That guard attacked him first," Drew growled defensively.

"He was doing his job," Peter said firmly.

"Whatever," Drew shrugged, calming down. "It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"What do you want, Drew?" Peter asked, his voice angry and impatient.

"I want my brother to have the freedom he deserves," Drew said simply. "You make that happen, and your little buddy, here, will make it out of this alive."

"Where is he?" Peter demanded.

"He's right here," Drew sighed, locking his eyes with the distant eyes of the consultant.

"I want to talk to him," Peter stated.

"Well, I wanted a pony once, but we don't always get what we want," Drew said smugly.

"Either I talk to him, or James spends the rest of his life in an eight-by-ten cell," Peter growled. As he listened, Neal's heavy eyelids fell closed. He was so tired. "Because, for all I know, he could be dead already."

After a moment, Drew sighed and made his way over to Neal's chair. Seeing the conman's eyes closed, he kicked the chair, jostling the young consultant and making his eyes bolt open. "Wake up and talk to your keeper," Drew said wearily, holding the cell phone up to Neal's ear.

Neal swallowed, gathering himself before he spoke. "Peter?" he asked softly, sounding drunk even in that one word.

"Neal," Peter sounded relieved. "Are you ok?"

"Tired," Neal mumbled. "They gave me something."

"But you're ok, right?" Peter pressed.

"Well, I'm alive, if that's what you mean," Neal told him, his words running into one another. "At least, I think I'm alive. But if I'm not alive and this is heaven, I want a refund." He was completely out of it; he had no control over what he was saying.

In spite of himself, Peter laughed. Then his tone became serious. "We're going to get you out of there, Neal," Peter said sincerely. "I promise."

Neal just nodded, and Drew took the phone away from him.

"I'll be in touch," the man smirked. He didn't wait for a response before hanging up.

"That sedative should wear off in a few more hours," Drew told Neal after a moment. "I'll be back later." With that, he and his two goons left Neal alone, closing the door behind him. It wasn't long before sleep reclaimed Neal's exhausted mind...


	5. Can You Hear Me Now?

I'm sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy! Please review!

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, I had no idea what he was going to do," James insisted. Peter and Diana were questioning him in prison.<p>

"He visited you every day since you got here and you're telling me he never mentioned anything to you?" Peter said doubtfully.

"Well, he told me he was going to get me out of here," James admitted. "But I honestly just thought he meant with appeals or something. I never thought he'd do something like this!"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Peter rolled his eyes.

"Agent Burke, I know you hate me, and you don't believe me, and I get it, I do. I killed your friend. It was stupid and reckless and wrong and I have regretted it every day since. But I am telling you the truth. I had no idea my brother was going to do this," James said sincerely.

"Why is he even doing this?" Peter asked. "I mean, I get that he's your brother, but I don't think that would make him kidnap anyone to get you out."

"I'm his big brother," James sighed. "Ever since we were kids, I've looked out for him. I took care of him. I protected him. When I got caught, he tried to do the same to me. He did everything he could to keep me out of prison. He just wants to repay me, I guess."

Peter hesitated, his eyes narrowing. James was hiding something. He could tell. He was telling the truth, alright, but not the whole truth. Finally, he nodded. He'd figure it out later. Right now, he didn't have time.

"This isn't over," Peter said firmly.

James nodded in understanding. Peter and Diana started to leave, but then James spoke up, "Agent Burke."

Peter stopped and turned to look at the convicted murderer. "If you need any help with my brother, just ask. I'll help in any way I can," James said, sincerity in his eyes. Peter hesitated, then nodded. Then, he and Diana left the prison...

* * *

><p>Peter sat in the passenger seat of Diana's car, heading back to the FBI building. His phone in his pocket vibrated, indicating he had a new text message. With a weary sigh, Pete pulled out his phone and opened the text. When he did, his heart rate picked up a little.<p>

_Is my brother out of prison yet?_

The sender's number was blocked, but Peter knew who it was.

"What?" Diana asked, noticing Peter's change in demeanor. Wordlessly, Peter showed her the text.

"Well, you might as well tell him the truth," Diana sighed, glancing between him and the road. "He's going to find out eventually."

Peter hesitated, then nodded. He let out a sigh, then sent his text.

_No. And that's not going to change. The FBI does not negotiate with terrorists._

Peter and Diana sat in tense silence as they waited for a response. It didn't take too long for them to get one.

_That's too bad. I really hoped I wouldn't have to do this. Be sure to check your inbox._

Peter's hand shook as he read the message. They had just pulled into the parking lot, and he jumped out of the car, not even waiting until Diana put it in park and killed the engine, racing inside to the elevator, just barely making it inside before the doors closed. Once he reached his floor, he leapt out and quickly made his way through the bullpen and up the stairs to his office. Closing his door behind him, he sat down at his desk and pulled up his email. He opened up the only new message in his inbox, the one with the sender marked unknown. It contained only a link, which he hesitated before opening.

"Oh my God," Peter whispered to himself, feeling his stomach tie up in knots. The link gave him a live feed to wherever they were keeping Neal. The camera was focused on the young man Peter had come to know well. He seemed barely awake, his eyes only half open. There was a bruise on the center of his forehead along the hairline from the night before, but there were new bruises now. A particularly ugly one resided on Neal's jaw. His lip was cut, a trail of blood dribbling down his chin.

And he wasn't alone. Someone was there with him. Peter couldn't see his face, but there was a taser in his hand.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me," Neal said softly, seeming tired and out of breath. Clearly, he already endured some painful treatment prior to what Peter was seeing. The consultant's eyes were cloudy, out of focus, with no spark or life in them. There was a gash above his left eye, deep and bleeding heavily, staining the left side of his face a crimson red. He was already turning pretty pale. Peter wasn't sure what scared him most, the blood or utter hopelessness in his half-open eyes.

Neal raised his eyes, focusing his gaze as best he could on something out of frame. "Peter's not going to budge. Your brother is going to rot in jail."

Someone, not the person who had been holding the taser, lashed out at the consultant with his fist, connecting with the side of his face with a sickening smack. Peter's stomach lurched as he watched Neal's head snap to the side. The chair he was strapped to wobbled, and for a moment, the pain of the hit was overpowered by the instinctual fear of falling. Luckily, the man who hit him stopped him from toppling over. Neal hesitated before settling himself back in his seat, the blood from the fresh cut on his cheekbone mixing with the blood from his forehead. Glancing at the camera, Neal seemed to realize that Peter might be watching, and he tried to hide the extreme pain and exhaustion he was feeling. It didn't work.

"Maybe," a voice said from somewhere off camera. Peter recognized the voice as Drew Kingston's. "But even if he doesn't, I'll consider it a fabulous consolation prize to have him watch you die."

* * *

><p>Neal sat in the chair, his hands shaking from anger, fear, and blood loss, breathing heavily, his cheek stinging from his newest cut, feeling the blood forge a new path as it ran down his face. His nerves were still on edge from the several painful taser hits he had been given just a few minutes ago. His eyes alternated between glaring at Drew and trying to keep the pain out of his eyes when he glanced at the camera on the tripod in front of him. Ryan and Blake hovered on either side of him. Ryan, who had seemed to take great joy in pumping thousands of volts into his body, had set his taser down on the table beside him and swapped it out for a knife. This made Neal more than a little uneasy.<p>

Neal had trouble keeping his thoughts straight. He could feel himself starting to slowly go numb. Drew was saying something, but his brain was too fuzzy to focus on it long enough to comprehend anything.

Suddenly, he felt a white hot pain flare up in his leg. He cried out, fighting against his restraints with all his strength. He looked to where he felt the pain, and was surprised that it seemed to get worse when he saw a knife sticking out of his leg. Neal looked up at Drew, and tried to glare at him, but he couldn't put the pain out of his mind for long enough. Giving up, he let his head drop, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched to keep from crying out. Drew smirked and chuckled slightly, seeming satisfied.

It didn't stop there.

Blake paced behind Neal's chair, playing in his blind spots, not allowing the consultant even a moment of relaxation. Neal kept looking like behind him, trying to keep the man in his sights. But that didn't let him see Ryan grab the knife that still stuck out of his leg. He didn't notice a thing until Ryan twisted the knife and yanked it out. Neal screamed, unable to stop himself. He had just begun to get himself under control when Blake plunged his own knife into Neal's left shoulder blade and roughly pulled it out. Neal cried out once more, and slumped in his chair, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to fall asleep. His vision was going foggy, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"That's enough, guys," Drew said, standing up from his chair. Glancing up at Ryan, Neal thought he looked disappointed. Where the hell did Drew find these guys?

"And now, Agent Burke, I leave you to watch your consultant bleed to death," Drew said smugly.

Neal watched, struggling to regain his ability to have rational thoughts, as Drew, Ryan, and Blake all left the room, closing the door behind them.

Neal took a deep breath, trying to focus on anything but the unbearable pain radiating throughout his body. Finally, he swallowed and tried to speak.

"Peter," his first attempt was weak and almost inaudible. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Peter," much better, "I'm not sure if you're still listening to this, but...I'm..." Neal took a moment, trying to make sure his brain got enough oxygen. He was only mildly aware of himself starting to lose an alarming amount of blood. "I'm in a factory...I could see the machinery when they opened the door...And I heard a train pass by...an hour or two ago...it was pretty close..." Even these simple phrases were taxing to the dying young man. "That's it, Peter, that's all I got...I'm sorry..." Neal had absolutely no idea if Peter had heard a word of what he just said. He could only pray he did, and that he would come soon enough to save him...


	6. The Day Has Only Just Begun

Peter had, in fact, heard every word. So did Diana, Jones, and Hughes. They were gathered in the conference room, where the live feed of Neal was displayed on the screen. Jones had his laptop open and was pecking furiously at the keys.

"Jones, whatdoya got?" Peter asked impatiently, his stomach doing flip-flops as he watched the conman, who had become a close friend, deteriorate before his eyes.

"I'm trying, Peter," Jones said softly. After a moment, he continued. "Ok, there are twelve abandoned factories in the New York area. Cross referencing with railroad tracks and the times Neal gave us..." Jones paused as the computer worked to give him his results. "Just one."

"Ok, Peter, Jones, and Diana, take a team and go to that location. I'll stay here and keep an eye on Neal," Hughes ordered.

The agents didn't have to be told twice. They quickly grabbed their guns and headed out while Jones got the SWAT team and an ambulance together. They would probably beat them there.

The factory wasn't more than a few miles away, and as Peter expected, SWAT and the ambulance had beat them there and were already moving into position. As they got ready, Peter radioed in to Hughes.

"Hughes, we're almost in position," he said breathlessly, his heart racing. "How's he looking?"

Hughes paused before answering. "Not good, Peter," he said at last, his voice regretful. "I'm not sure how long he's going to last."

The conman on screen was dangerously pale. His head was down, so Hughes couldn't see his face, but he was sure he was unconscious. He was still breathing, but only barely; he could still see Neal's shoulders rising and falling with each breath, but it wasn't as pronounced as it had been earlier. Hughes was no doctor, but he knew that couldn't be a good sign.

Peter let out a shaky breath, trying to control himself. He jumped when Diana tapped him on the shoulder. "We're ready to go in, Boss," she said gently. Peter nodded, and the two agents moved into position.

Peter gave the signal, and the FBI converged on the factory. Peter, Jones, and Diana split up, clearing different parts of the factory. Peter himself was outside a door that was to the right of some old machinery that he could only guess the uses of. SWAT broke down the door, and Peter almost froze at what he saw.

Neal was deathly pale, restrained to his chair by zip ties, and appeared completely lifeless, his clothes soaked with blood. Crimson blood pooled under the consultant's chair. No one else was in the room.

His hands shaking, Peter holstered his gun, only mildly aware of Jones and Diana joining him, and made his way over to Neal's still form, pressing two fingers to his neck to find a pulse. For several agonizing seconds, he couldn't find one. For one terrifying moment, he thought his friend was dead. But, just as he was about to give up, his silent, desperate prayers were answered, and he found a faint pulse. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"He's still alive," Peter said breathlessly. Jones and Diana felt a flood of relief wash over them as Peter turned to them and shouted, "Go get the paramedics! Now!" The two agents nodded and left.

"Neal!" Peter said desperately, hoping the consultant could still hear him. He quickly picked up a knife from the table beside him, flinching when he noticed Neal's blood coating the blade, and sliced through the zip ties, freeing the consultant. "Neal, stay with me!" As he spoke, the paramedics came into view, carrying a stretcher with them. They quickly pushed Peter aside and got to work on Neal. Peter watched as they worked tirelessly to stabilize the young man and stop him from losing any more blood. Finally, when they were satisfied that he was stable enough to move, they transported him to the stretcher and quickly took him out to the ambulance.

Peter watched as the ambulance sped away into the setting sun, sirens blaring. Through all the worry and fear, some part of him somehow noticed how beautiful the setting sun looked over New York's fabulous sky scrapers. Peter let out a sigh, hoping and praying his friend would live to see it come up again...

* * *

><p>"Peter, wake up," Peter jolted awake, his heart racing, his senses on high alert, as if some danger were nearby. He relaxed when he saw Elizabeth smiling at him. Some part of him vaguely acknowledged that this was not her usual smile. This one was strained and nervous.<p>

"El?" he asked drowsily. "What happened?" Peter looked around, and remembered he was at the hospital. Jones and Diana were nowhere to be found.

"You fell asleep, Suit," Peter jumped when he heard Mozzie's voice, and whirled around to find the mysterious conman standing there behind him. "Waiting on news on Neal."

"And?" Peter questioned. "Anything?"

Mozzie sighed and shook his head.

Peter sighed. "Where did Jones and Diana go?" he asked finally, rubbing his eyes.

"Hughes wanted them to come back to the office to help look for Drew Kingston," Elizabeth explained.

Peter was about to say more, but Mozzie interrupted him, "Suit, is that Neal's doctor?" he asked eagerly. Peter looked up to see Dr. Rhea striding toward them. Peter nodded absently and stood up, meeting the doctor halfway, only slightly aware of Elizabeth and Mozzie following him on either side.

"How is he?" Peter asked hesitantly, almost not wanting to know the answer.

"Well," Rhea sighed. Something about his tone made Peter's stomach clench. "Neal managed to pull through surgery, but he lost a lot of blood. He gave him a few transfusions, put him on an IV, but we just don't know. With all that blood loss came a lot of oxygen deprivation. It's hard to say how his body's going to respond." All three of the people in front of him got visibly paler, exchanging nervous glances. Seeing this, Rhea rushed to add, "But, of course, I said pretty much the same thing the last time Neal was here, and he still woke up. And his body had received much more trauma then. Although there's more blood loss this time, I'm sure he'll still be able to snap out of it."

"Where is he?" Mozzie asked finally.

"We moved him and Jessica into the same room," Rhea explained. "I thought it'd be nice for when they wake up. And if she's anything like him," he said, reading Peter's troubled thoughts, "she's going to wake up."

Peter nodded in understanding before Rhea gave them the room number. "Call me if he wakes up," Rhea commanded. "I need to make sure there's no permanent damage." They hastily agreed and didn't hesitate to take off down the hall in search of the correct room.

When they got there, Rebecca was sitting by Jessica's still-motionless form, but she continuously glanced over at Neal's equally-motionless body. As Elizabeth and Mozzie rushed to Neal's side, leaving Peter standing wordlessly in the doorway, Rebecca glanced up and spotted the FBI man. Instantly, she whirled on him.

"What the hell happened to him?" Rebecca hissed.

"He was doing some undercover work," Peter explained, sticking to his story. "He got caught snooping, and the people he was investigating weren't too happy about it. They...it was pretty bad."

"Yeah, I can see that," Rebecca said angrily. "Dr. Rhea said he was surprised he made it, that he lost a lot of blood. What the hell happened?"

"You don't need to know the details," Peter said gently, starting to get annoyed but still understanding her pain.

"Damn it Peter! You're responsible for him!" Rebecca shouted, frustrated, on the verge of tears. "You're supposed to be his friend! You're supposed to look out for him! How could you let this happen to him?"

"You're not completely innocent in this, either!" Peter growled, losing his temper, the events of the past few days catching up with him. "This never would have happened if you hadn't taken Jessica away from him! Ever since you left with her, Neal hasn't been thinking straight. If he had had his head in the game, he would be awake right now!"

"Guys!" Mozzie's voice interrupted them before their argument could continue. "He's waking up."

Without another word, Peter and Rebecca rushed to Neal's side. Sure enough, he was starting to open his eyes. Neal blinked a few times, allowing his vision to come into focus.

"Neal?" Peter asked hesitantly. "Can you hear me?"

Neal paused a moment, gathering his strength. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I can hear you, Peter." Neal groaned and shifted positions.

"Careful," Peter warned.

"Where am I?" Neal asked softly.

"You're in the hospital," Mozzie told him. "But you're going to be fine."

"Damn it," Neal muttered with a slight smile, his eyes only half opened. "I was hoping to never end up as a patient here again."

This caused the rest of the group to laugh. "Oh yeah," Peter grinned. "You're going to be fine."

The sound of the door closing made them all turn in surprise. Standing in front of the now-closed entryway was Drew Kingston and two other men that Peter didn't recognize. Neal did, however. They were Blake and Ryan. All three men had guns.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Drew said smugly. "The day's just getting started."

* * *

><p>Peter, without hesitation, drew his gun and aimed it at the man who had nearly killed his friend. He wanted so badly to pull the trigger for what he had done to his friend. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to. "Drop the gun, Drew," Peter growled.<p>

"I don't think so, Peter," Drew smirked. "There are three of us and one of you. We could kill you plus two more before you took down one of us. If you like those odds, go ahead. Try. But if you want to be smart, hand over the gun."

Peter hesitated, his jaw clenched. He knew he was right, but he didn't want to give up. Finally, he sighed and surrendered, putting his gun on the ground and kicking it over to Drew. Drew smiled and picked it up, tucking it behind his back.

"Great," he said, that arrogant tone only irritating Peter more. Drew grabbed Rebecca's chair from beside Jessica's bed and slid it across the room. It came to a stop when it hit the wall directly across from Neal's bed. "Peter, you take a seat in that chair. Everyone else, have a seat in the far corner behind Neal's bed."

Rebecca, Mozzie, and Elizabeth were all quick to obey. Peter was a little more hesitant, his angry glare shooting daggers at the three men before him. Finally, he cooperated and made his way over to the chair, sitting down.

"Give me your phone," Drew demanded, looking straight at Peter. After another heartbeat of hesitation, Peter reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his cell phone, holding it out to Drew, who quickly walked over to him and snatched it away. He scrolled through the contacts, seeming to know the exact number to call. He smiled when he finally found the right one and called it, putting the call on speaker phone before tossing it onto Jessica's bed. Everyone waited anxiously as it rang.

"Hughes," Reese's voice sounded tired when he answered. Instead of saying something, Drew cocked the gun in his hand and took aim at Neal. The heart monitor beside the young man's bed portrayed just how terrified he was. Noticing this, Drew smirked before firing, not once, not twice, but three times. Rebecca and Elizabeth screamed, and Peter and Mozzie shouted angrily in frantic protest.

The conman was never hit, however; the bullets had buried themselves into the mattress Neal was laying on. But no one, not even Neal, was given time to process that before Drew turned and fired thrice at Peter as well. Just like before, the agent was unharmed, the bullets making holes in the wall just inches from his head.

Meanwhile, Hughes's voice was heard yelling through the phone, asking desperately if everyone was alright. Drew smirked and lowered his gun.

"Do I have your attention now?" Drew asked.

"Drew!" Hughes sounded pissed, but Neal and Peter, slowly recovering from their near-misses, noticed a note of terrified concern in his voice. "What did you do? Where're Peter and Neal?"

"Oh, they're fine," Drew assured him. "Right, Peter and Neal?"

Their hearts still racing, agent and consultant exchanged glances. "We're fine, Hughes," Peter spoke up at last, starting to get his heart rate under control.

"What do you want, Drew?" Hughes growled, sounding a little calmer.

"The same thing I wanted before: my brother," Drew said simply. "Neal wasn't a big enough piece to get him home? Fine. Then I have a new proposition for you. You get my brother out of prison, or Neal has to watch his family and friends die. You have three hours before this hospital room becomes a crime scene. I was thinking I'd start with Jessica," Drew continued, his voice starting to sound a little more excited, as if part of him was actually hoping Hughes wouldn't do it and give him an excuse to start killing people. "Then Rebecca, Mozzie, Elizabeth, your little golden boy, Peter, and then, finally, Neal," Drew's expression became thoughtful. "Or maybe I'll let Neal live," he mused, "have him try and keep living life after losing everyone he cared about. I'll bet it wouldn't take long before he couldn't take it anymore and pulled the plug."

"You're not getting out of there alive," Hughes snarled, his voice full of rage.

"Maybe you're right," Drew conceded. "But unless you let me see my brother, neither will anyone else. Three hours, Hughes. I'd get to it."

With that, he hung up, not allowing Hughes any time to respond.


	7. If They Only Knew the Truth

_We are beginning to near the end! Oh no! XD_

* * *

><p>"What the hell just happened?" Diana asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the conference room after Hughes hung up the phone with Drew.<p>

"We've just been given a choice," Hughes told her softly.

"Hand over James Kingston," Jones sighed, continuing Hughes' thought, "or he murders everyone."

"So what are we going to do?" Diana asked nervously.

"The only thing we can do," Hughes said simply, his expression unreadable. "Give him his brother."

* * *

><p>Peter watched, his eyes blazing with rage, as Drew paced the floor of the hospital room like a caged tiger. He would have liked nothing more than to bash his head in with the chair he sat on. But Ryan and Blake, whose names he had learned just a few minutes ago when Drew introduced them, were just a few feet away, talking in hushed tones, their guns still in their hands. Peter had a feeling he wouldn't get very far.<p>

"He's never going to listen to you," Peter said finally. "Your brother is never getting out of prison."

"Shut up," Drew barked, continuing to pace.

"I really don't get why you're even helping him," Peter continued as if he hadn't spoke. "After all, he is just a murderous scum bag, not to mention a crappy art thief."

"Peter," Neal warned, his eyes wide. It was too late.

Drew closed the distance between him and Peter in just a few steps, bringing his arm across his body and pistol-whipping the agent. Elizabeth and Rebecca let out terrified whimpers, tears streaming down their faces, while Neal and Mozzie visibly tensed. Peter had to push his self-control to its limits to stop himself from fighting back and no doubt causing some more gunfire.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Drew growled angrily.

"I'll talk about him any way I want to," Peter growled back just as angrily. "He took a father away from five-year-old twins and a loving husband away from a mother with cancer. Caleb Huston was a good man. Your brother is nothing but a coward and a murderer."

Drew reared back, striking Peter across the face with his gun again, creating a deep gash in his forehead. "My brother is a good guy," Drew roared in the agent's face. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"He murdered an innocent man," Peter retorted. "Excuse me if I find that wrong."

Drew brought his arm back once more, and Peter closed his eyes and braced himself for the hit he was sure would come.

But it never did. Peter hesitantly opened his eyes, and was surprised by what he saw. Blake was gripping Drew's right wrist, the one that held the gun, stopping Drew from bring it forward and hitting Peter again.

"Let me go!" Drew commanded, enraged.

"The fed is no good to us if you beat his brains out," Blake said, his expression stony. "You can't do that to him."

"I'll do whatever I want to him!" Drew shouted.

"Brain dead feds won't do anything to help bring your brother home," Blake told him calmly. "In fact, I'm willing to bet it will have the opposite effect. But if you want to ruin your brother's chance at freedom just to beat the crap out of some smart-ass fed," Blake dropped Drew's wrist and took a step back, "go right ahead."

Drew hesitated, and for a moment, Peter thought he would still do it. But finally, Drew sighed angrily and dropped his arm. He glared at Peter, and finally stalked away from him and continued pacing.

Peter let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding, forcing himself to relax a little. Glancing over at Neal, the consultant looked terrified. Peter figured the only thing he took any solace in was the fact that Jessica had not yet woken up. He guessed that if Neal had anything to say about it, she would never know what happened while she was asleep.

Time ticked by slowly. Peter's bleeding head, which now was a less-severe match to Neal's, throbbed painfully. Soon, they only had thirty minutes until Drew's deadline. And still, they had no word from Hughes.

Peter and Neal exchanged glances, starting to get nervous. Both were starting to wonder if this was going to be their last day on Earth. Finally, just when they had begun to give up all hope of surviving their ordeal, Peter's phone rang...

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is the only thing we can do?" Jones asked from the passenger seat of the car, for what had to be the fifth time.<p>

"Yeah, Jones, we're sure," Diana told him, annoyed. "If we want to get everyone out of there alive, this is what we have to do. Besides, he _did_ say he'd help us out."

"Well excuse me if I don't believe him," Jones grumbled.

"Um, hello?" James said from the back seat. "'Him' is right here." James was dressed in street clothes, but his hands were still bound with shiny metal handcuffs.

"And your point?" Jones asked bitterly as they pulled into the hospital parking lot, which was now filled with SWAT cars and ambulances. He, too, had been friends with the murdered security guard.

James sighed and let the subject drop as the two agents got out, opening the door for him and escorting him inside. Hughes was waiting there, in the main waiting area, just down the hall from Neal and Jessica's room.

"Hello, James," Hughes greeted him, a note of hatred, disgust, and distrust in his voice, even though he tried to be pleasant.

James sighed as Diana freed him of his handcuffs. He rubbed his sore wrists and focused on remaining polite as he nodded in greeting. "Hughes," he said respectfully.

"When you go in there, we'll be able to hear everything that's going on," the older man told him. James was already wearing a wire. "So, for everyone's sake, don't try anything dumb. Just get in there, try and neutralize the situation as best you can, and then we'll come in."

James nodded, having already been told what to do.

"And take this," Hughes handed him a necklace with a thick chain and a charm on it. James could hardly hide the surprised look on his face when he got a good look at the charm.

"It's a St. Christopher's medal," Hughes said, stating the obvious. "It's identical to the one you went in with, except for the fact that this one has a tiny camera embedded in it, so we can see what's going on, too."

James, once again, nodded, slipping the necklace over his head.

"You ready?" Diana asked. James decided he liked her best. While she still acted like she hated him, she didn't try and put him down every chance she got. If they only knew the truth...

"Yeah," James said with a sigh, trying to hide the nervousness he felt. "I think so."

"Good," Hughes sighed, picking up his phone and calling Peter's. "Let's just hope we can all go home after this."


	8. It's My Job

_So close to finishing! Please review!_

* * *

><p>Peter watched, holding his breath, as Drew answered the phone.<p>

"Hughes," he said with a smile. "We were beginning to think you forgot about us."

"Nope," Hughes assured him. "It just took a little while to get things in order."

"So you have my brother then?" Drew questioned.

"Yes," Hughes sighed. "We have him."

"Send him in. Alone," Drew commanded. He didn't wait for a response before hanging up.

A few heart-pounding minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Without much more than a glance at Drew, Ryan walked over to Peter and hauled him roughly to his feet by his arm, then pushed him forward, towards the door. Fighting back his fury, Peter made his way over to the door and opened it slightly, all too aware of the gun he had aimed at his head. His eyes narrowed when he saw James standing in the doorway, while James looked shocked when he saw Peter. After a little not-so-gentle prodding, Peter moved aside and let James in. Once he was inside, Peter closed the door and sat back down in his seat.

"James," Drew grinned, walking over to his brother and giving him a quick hug, which James reciprocated.

"Drew," James said, his tone unreadable.

"What's wrong?" Drew asked.

"What did you do, Drew?" James said with a sigh.

"I got you out of there," Drew said defensively. "You didn't belong in there."

"According to the jury, I did," James shrugged, his voice more sad than angry or bitter, a fact that surprised Peter.

"But you didn't do it!" Drew protested.

"I know that, and you know that," James nodded. "But the FBI, the jury, they didn't know that. They had a sound case."

"But you didn't do it!" Drew repeated. Peter and Neal watched the conversation with fascination.

"That doesn't mean you had the right to kidnap Neal," James said sternly, again surprising Peter. What the hell was going on here? "It doesn't mean you had the right to kill that guy in DC to draw them in. And then you send a guy to kill a little girl? Drew, you know that's not right. You know you shouldn't have done that."

"And you knew that you shouldn't have taken the fall for me!" Drew said loudly, frustrated. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't have to go to jail for me."

At this, James laughed. "That's my job," he said finally. "I have to protect my little brother. I'll always protect you. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"You shouldn't have done it," Drew repeated.

"And you shouldn't have killed that guard," James replied evenly. "But we all make mistakes, and just like when we were kids, I had to cover up for yours. I don't regret what I did, Drew. But you can't do this. You shouldn't have done this. Because, besides the fact that you and your friends killed someone, tried to kill a little girl, and almost killed Neal, now I can't cover for you."

"Agent Burke and his little rat over there," Drew angrily spit the words out, glaring at both the agent and consultant, "ruined your life! And you expect me to be sorry for what I did to them? Well, sorry, I'm not!"

"The only reason I went to prison," James somehow managed to keep his voice calm, "was because you used my stuff to steal that painting and kill that guard. I let you borrow all that stuff. I'm as much at fault as you. Neal and Agent Burke were just doing their jobs!"

"But you had no idea what I was going to do! It wasn't your fault!" Drew said in frustration. "And if you think I'm just going to sit back and let them get away with it," Drew turned to Peter and aimed his gun at the FBI man's chest, "you are sadly mistaken."

"Drew, stop!" James said urgently as Peter tensed in his seat. "Don't do this! It's not Peter's fault!"

"He has to pay for what he did to you!" Drew growled in protest.

"Drew, listen," James said, trying to be as calm as possible. "Just give me the gun. You still have a chance here." It was an outright lie, but he had to do something to calm his brother down.

"No!" Drew said angrily. "Can't you see that I'm trying to help you?"

At that moment, James noticed Peter's gun tucked behind his brother's back. He shifted his gaze to Peter, locking eyes with the agent. He glanced back at the gun, trying to tell him what he was going to do. Peter hesitated, trying to figure out the clues, but finally, it all clicked, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"How is this going to help me?" James challenged. "Even if we do manage to get out of here when you're done, which we won't, by the way, trust me, if you do this, we won't be able to spend one day without looking over our shoulders. We'll never be able to relax. Is that really what you want?"

This caused Drew to hesitate, and James took his chance, quickly swiping Peter's gun from behind Drew's back and aimed it at his brother.

"What the hell are you doing?" Drew demanded, sounding angry and betrayed.

"I'm sorry, Drew," James said softly. Peter could tell what he was doing was killing him. "But I can't let you do this to yourself. I can't let you do this to that little girl." At this, Drew fell silent. "Look at her, Drew," James commanded. Hesitantly, Drew turned and looked at Jessica's motionless form. "Do you really want her to grow up like we did? Because if you kill Peter and Neal, that's exactly what's going to happen. I know you. You don't want that."

"I came here for one reason," Drew tore his gaze away from Jessica and dropped his gun from Peter, turning to face James completely, "to kill the SOB's that put you away for no reason. I'm not leaving until I've accomplished that goal. And if that means I have to take you out of the equation first," as he spoke, Blake and Ryan, taking their cue, approached James from either side, guns drawn, "then so be it."

With those words, Blake and Ryan attacked, each grabbing one of James' arms and pulling him backwards, slamming him into the door. James was caught off guard and didn't have a chance to fight back. Ryan, who had James' right arm, whacked his hand, which still gripped Peter's gun, against the wall a few times until he dropped it. James let out a soft grunt of pain as Blake let go and Ryan restrained both of James' arms behind his back.

Meanwhile, Drew had turned and took careful aim at Peter.

"Drew stop!" James cried desperately, struggling to get free.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Drew stopped and looked at James.

"Don't do this," James begged. "Please. You're going to regret it. Just please, don't do this."

"You know what, James, you're right," Drew said thoughtfully. James couldn't help but hide his surprise.

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"I can't let that little girl go through what we did," Drew said simply. "So the most obvious solution here is, of course, kill the little girl first." Drew said, turning to aim his gun at Jessica.

"No!" Neal cried, looking like he was going to stand up and get between Drew and Jessica. But even the slightest movement caused him extreme pain, and his lack of a sufficient blood supply caused an impossibly strong wave of dizziness to wash over him, not allowing him to go anywhere.

"Drew, listen to me!" James said loudly. He glanced down at the floor and found Peter's gun within reach of his foot. Again, the convicted murderer locked eyes with the agent who arrested him. When he did, he glanced down at the gun, and looked back at him. Peter got the message, tensing in anticipation.

"You don't have to do this, Drew," James said desperately, carefully placing his foot on Peter's gun. "I know you. You don't really want to kill that girl. She hasn't done anything wrong. You wanted to get me out of prison because I didn't do anything wrong, right? I got punished even though I didn't do anything wrong. Do you really want to do the same thing to that little girl? Because she hasn't done anything. She's only nine, Drew. Don't take away her chance at life. She has a chance, Drew. Let her keep it." With that final word, James kicked Peter's gun over to him. Without hesitation, despite his head injury, Peter scooped up the gun and fired twice, once at Ryan, and once at Blake, each bullet hitting the men in their legs. Blake fell to the ground, and Ryan released his hold on James before stumbling back into the wall and following suit. When they hit the ground, both men dropped their guns, which James hastily scooped up and took away.

"James," Drew said softly, betrayal in his voice, as Peter took aim at him.

"Peter!" James interrupted. The agent turned to James, but kept his gun steady. "Please, don't shoot him!"

"How could you do this to me, James?" Drew asked, turning away from Jessica to face his brother.

"It's for your own good," James told him, his voice helpless. "I'm trying to protect you. Just give me the gun, ok?" he said softly, extending his hand.

"You set me up," Drew said in disbelief.

"No," James denied. "I'm doing this for you. Now please, Drew, please. Just give me the gun."

Still, Drew hesitated, anger, hurt, and betrayal in his eyes. "You lied to me."

"And I also lied for you!" James exclaimed. "I went to prison for you! You owe me. Now give me the gun!"

His words really seemed to hit home for Drew, because it was obvious he was considering. Finally, hesitantly, he held out his gun out to his brother, who let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Drew," James said sincerely, slowly reaching out to take the gun from him. "Thank you."

Just as he closed his hand around the barrel of the gun, Drew fired, hitting James square in the chest. James' eyes widened and he fell backwards, his grip on the gun causing him to take it with him. Peter instantly moved in, handcuffing Drew, who had his hands up in the universal 'I surrender' position. At that moment, SWAT rushed in, and Peter handed Drew off to them. He himself quickly went to James' side.

"James!" he cried, his eyes widening when he saw the blood. As he put his hands over the bullet wound to stop the bleeding, some part of him recognized how strange this all was. Just a few hours ago, he had been ready to kill James himself. But now, he was desperate to save his life.

"Stay with me, James," Peter urged as James coughed up blood.

"Come on, James, you are literally twenty yards from surgery! I am not going to let you die of a gunshot wound in a damn hospital! That is just too ironic for me!" Peter tried to keep James engaged as a wave of paramedics rushed in. Two of them worked to take care of Ryan and Blake, and a couple more went to James. Just like with Neal, Peter was pushed aside. Reluctantly, Peter backed up, moving to stand by Neal's side, ignoring his dizziness.

"Boss," Peter was shocked out of his trance when Jones and Diana appeared in front of him. "You ok?" Diana asked, concerned.

At that moment, Peter became aware of something else: Elizabeth clinging to him. He hugged her back and nodded absentmindedly.

"You should get you head checked out," Jones' voice sounded far away as Peter started to get dizzier than ever. His vision got fuzzy, and then, before he could stop himself, he was completely unconscious...


	9. Dysfunctionally Perfect

_The final chapter! Yay! Please Review!_

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><p>Peter woke up to find himself in a hospital bed. <em>What the...?<em> he thought, looking around. He saw Elizabeth outside talking to Hughes. He wondered how he got there, but then it all came back to him in a wave of memories.

"Agent Burke," Peter jumped and turned his head to see Dr. Rhea standing beside him, adjusting the equipment he was hooked up to. "Glad to see you're awake."

"What happened?" he asked, hoping he'd understand he meant after he passed out.

"Well, after you passed out," Peter smiled to himself, "James Kingston was taken into surgery, the others were taken to prison, and Neal and Jessica got moved into another room."

"What happened to James?" Peter asked eagerly.

"Well, I'll leave the non-medical details to your boss," Rhea sighed, "but James pulled through surgery. The bullet luckily missed his heart, as well as any vital organs."

Peter let out a small sigh of relief, "Good."

Rhea smiled at him. "I'll tell Elizabeth and Hughes you're awake," he said, walking around his bed and out the door. Seconds later, Hughes and Elizabeth rushed inside.

"Oh, Peter," Elizabeth said softly. "Thank God."

"How're you feeling, Burke?" Hughes asked, sounding nervous.

"Better," Peter admitted. "How are Rebecca and Neal and Mozzie?"

"Shaken," Hughes told him honestly. "But they're fine. Neal's doing much better; he's getting much stronger."

"Good," Peter said, relieved. There was a pause. "What's going to happen to James?" he asked at last.

"Well, we have Drew's confession on tape, and remember all the tiny little details that we just thought were unimportant?" Hughes asked. Peter nodded. "Well, when you put Drew in where we thought James fit, it all fits perfectly. I'm sure the judge will find in his favor."

"Good," Peter repeated. "He deserves it."

Hughes nodded, "Yeah, he does."

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><p>Late the following evening, Peter was allowed to go home. However, that's not what he did. Instead, he went to see Neal.<p>

"I'm fine, Peter, really," Neal assured him with a smile. "You should go home and rest."

"I've been resting all day," Peter protested.

"Yeah, well you got hit pretty hard," Neal pointed out.

"So did you. Your cut took more stitches than mine did," Peter retorted.

"That's true," Neal smiled, "But I don't have a beautiful wife waiting for me at home."

"Good point," Peter acknowledged. Suddenly, he wanted to go home. "You sure you're ok?"

"Peter, I'm fine," Neal insisted. "And if I need anything, I have several lovely nurses who would gladly help me."

Peter smiled and chuckled. "Alright," he agreed. "See you in the morning."

"Good night," Neal smiled as Peter left. With Rebecca at her hotel, trying to recover from her ordeal, being alone suddenly made Neal very tired. _I'll just close my eyes for a minute,_ he told himself. But as soon as he did, he was fast asleep.

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><p>Neal woke up several hours later in a cold sweat. He had dreamed that Jessica suddenly died after days in her coma. The indescribable, unimaginable pain and loss he felt, which had actually manifested itself as physical pain, was so unbelievably real that, panicked, he looked over at the bed beside him, just to make sure she was still in it and the heart monitor beside her bed still showed signs of life. Both were proved true, and Neal let out a shaky sigh of relief.<p>

Just as he was settling himself into his bed once more, ready to fall back asleep, he heard a voice that made him jolt wide awake.

"Daddy?" Jessica's voice was muffled by the oxygen mask over her face, but it was unmistakable to Neal. Slowly, hesitantly, not wanting to find out it was another dream, he turned and looked at her. Sure enough, the little girl's head was on its side, looking at him through barely-open eyes.

"Jessica!" Neal said, overwhelmed with joy and relief. He quickly pressed the call button on his headboard over and over until finally Dr. Rhea made an appearance.

"Neal, it's almost the end of my shift. What do you...?" Seeing Jessica's semi-conscious state, he trailed off.

"Jessica," he said, pulling out his flashlight pen, the one he had shined in Neal's eyes when he was first a patient here, and went to her side, doing the same thing to her. "Jessica, sweetie, can you hear me?"

Jessica groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. "Not so loud..." she said softly through the oxygen mask.

"I'm sorry," Rhea said, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. "I need to ask you some questions ok?" Whimpering, Jessica nodded.

"Ok," Rhea said softly. "What is your name?"

"Jessica Brooks," Jessica murmured.

"Good," Rhea smiled. "How old are you?"

"Nine."

"What are your parents' names?"

"Neal and Rebecca."

"Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" Rhea asked, holding up five fingers.

"Four," Jessica replied. Noticing his concern, she smiled slightly, struggling against the oxygen mask. "A thumb is not a finger."

Rhea and Neal laughed. "Ok, good, that's good. "Alright, you just rest now, ok, Jessica? I'll be back to check on you soon."

"Ok," Jessica mumbled, closing her eyes and, like Neal had all those months ago, instantly fell asleep.

Rhea and Peter exchanged relieved glances, then Rhea left Neal alone with Jessica.

Neal stared at his daughter's sleeping form, an unbelievable amount of relief washing over him. _She's going to be ok,_ he told himself, repeating the phrase over and over in his mind. It wasn't long before he fell back asleep...

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><p>Neal woke up to the smell of pancakes. It had been a week or so since he had ended up in the hospital, and he was home again. Jessica, too, had been released. She and Rebecca, after a quick return home to pack and grab Shadow, were staying with him for winter break.<p>

"Good morning, Daddy," Jessica said sweetly. She was carrying a try of pancakes with her.

Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Neal smiled and sat up in bed. "Pancakes?" he asked with a grin.

Jessica nodded. "Mommy helped me make them," she told him, setting the tray down beside him, knowing not to touch his still-painful leg.

"Hey, Daddy," Jessica said excitedly as Neal started eating. "Guess what!"

"What?" Neal asked with a grin.

"It's Christmas!" Jessica squealed in excitement.

"It is, isn't it?" Neal smiled. "What time is Peter coming over?"

"A couple hours," Jessica told him.

"Ok, well how about this? I'll finish my breakfast and meet you downstairs, and then you can open a present before Peter and Elizabeth and Mozzie get here, ok?" Neal offered.

"Ok!" Jessica cried excitedly, taking off.

Neal laughed and continued eating. Peter and Elizabeth had agreed to come spend Christmas with Neal and his family. Normally, Neal wasn't big on Christmas, but this time, Jessica had gotten him excited.

After he finished eating, it took him a while to get ready for the day, his injuries making it very difficult to move.

Finally, he was ready, and he made his way down the four flights of stairs to where everyone was already gathered around the tree. Presents were stacked under the tree, and Jessica's stocking had already been emptied.

"Nice of you to join us, Neal," This time when Peter said it, it was light hearted and teasing.

"Yeah, well, getting ready took a little longer than expected," Neal said with a smile. "I hope I didn't miss anything."

"Just Mozzie wrestling Shadow for a cookie," Elizabeth smiled. Mozzie rolled his eyes.

"It was one of El's cookies," he said simply, as if that explained it all. Which, considering how delicious El's cookies were, it did.

"Well, then of course," Neal laughed, taking a seat.

The rest of the night was full of laughs and happiness. Thinking back, Neal realized he had never thought his life could turn out so perfect. Even when he was with Kate, he had never pictured their lives being so...dysfunctionally perfect. Jessica's bruises were healing nicely. Peter's stitches were coming out in a few days. After a lot of talking, Rebecca had agreed to take Jessica to see him every weekend. Everything with James had worked out for the better; James was found innocent and was a free man, while his brother, Ryan, and Blake were serving life sentences in prison. Things were looking up in ways he had never thought possible. Neal just wanted to sit back and take it all in. This was his home. He wouldn't have it any other way.

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><p>The End<p>

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><p><em>Well, that's all for now, folks. Please let me know how I did!<em>


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